by Sahara Kelly
“You didn’t stay that day for the Spring Fair,” said Simon. “You arrived, said hullo, and that was the last I saw of you, even when we heard the sad news.”
“I know.” She nodded, her gaze fixed on the way ahead. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to re-establish my acquaintance with the people I used to know here. I certainly didn’t want their sympathy. Too much like pity for my comfort.”
“But they’re people you grew up with, Tabby. They’re not strangers.”
“To you? No they’re not. But to me…” she paused as if looking for the right words. “To me, they represent my past. Something that is gone and can never be recaptured.”
Simon took his own time answering. “It must have been difficult when your papa passed away. My condolences on his death. I never had chance to express them. You were gone before the news came to Ridlington.” He lifted his hand and placed it over hers where it lay on his forearm.
“Then you know Papa died in London.” Her tone was calm. “He was there under his physician’s care. There was nothing anyone could do. I should have been there, I suppose, but I took a chance on coming down here. Of course, that was when he passed away.” She sighed. “The way of the world. Always doing the worst possible thing at the worst possible time.”
“So you vanished again, leaving us wondering if you had received a summons from some high ranking Government agency.”
He smiled as he gently referred to her previous adventures in Europe. Her task as an intelligence-gatherer, or as his sisters liked to refer to it—a spy—had intrigued them all last autumn.
She chuckled. “No. I’m hoping that phase of my life is over. I am retired from anything to do with the Government—of any nation.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Simon heaved an inner sigh of relief. “What are you going to do with the rest of your time, Lady Ellsmere?”
“The title is nominal, at best.” She sounded wry. “I can order an evening gown and have it delivered the next day. But I don’t have a residence to receive it.” A slight snort followed. “Stupid, isn’t it?”
Simon snugged her arm in a little closer to his body. “I know Worsley Hall has gone to some relative…a distant cousin?”
She nodded. “A man I had never heard of, let alone met. My home. Gone just like that with Papa’s death.”
“And that’s why you’re here now? To conclude those matters?”
“Mostly, yes.”
They walked on in silence for a little while, Simon as busy with his thoughts as he imagined her to be with hers.
“What shall you do, Tabby?” He brought them to a halt and looked down at her. “Worsley is no longer yours. You are a widow, and apparently there’s no home for you with the Ellsmeres.”
She stared ahead, but he saw her throat move as she swallowed.
“Can I help? Can the Ridlingtons do anything? I know Edmund and Rosaline would…”
“No, stop.” She turned and disengaged her arm from his. “I have a mission already, Simon.”
“I thought you said no more Government business for you.”
“Not that kind of mission.” She blew a breath out from between her lips. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’ll just come right out with it.”
“Very well.” He wondered at her tone. Her face was expressionless, quietly attractive in repose and giving nothing away.
“I have been asked by the Diocese to review and assess the finances of St. Simon’s church.”
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WORD OF A LADY
Book 3 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Series
He was a little younger than she’d anticipated. Perhaps in his early forties, which was no great age, but given that he was the name behind a prestigious London publishing company, she’d been prepared for someone with more of an elderly appearance.
“Miss Smith?” He rose as she entered the parlour.
“Indeed.” She dropped him a polite curtsey. “Thank you for the honour you do us, Mr. Lesley. Coming all this way from London is very much appreciated, and quite a surprise.”
They sat, he in a large chair by the fireplace, she in a smaller one next to the well-worn sofa.
“After reading your…er…friend’s manuscript, I felt it incumbent upon me to visit in person. And to be honest, I have an acquaintance in the area, so it was a case of killing two birds with one happy stone.” He crossed his legs. “I suppose there is no chance of my meeting with Lady Corinth in person?”
“No sir, I’m afraid not.” Letitia kept her expression calm and her words simple. She was masquerading as the author’s friend and intended Mr. Lesley to completely accept her role. “Given the nature of the manuscript, I’m sure you can understand her desire to remain anonymous.”
“Indeed.” Lesley nodded. “Cytherean Tales has the potential to be a very popular volume, Miss Smith.”
Letitia’s heart jumped. “It does?”
“Yes.” He tapped his leather case which lay on the table next to him. “It is quite remarkable in its characterization and the heroines’ voices are strong and will easily attract and hold a reader’s attention.”
“Well,” Letitia cleared her throat. “I can assure you she will be very happy to hear that. Very happy indeed.”
“You realize however, that this is a very controversial volume?”
“I do.”
“You have read it yourself?” He raised an eyebrow. “I will admit to some surprise that a lady of your tender years has risked exposing herself to the material contained in this book.”
Letitia’s chin rose. “I believe Lady Corinth wrote much of the book with women in mind, Mr. Lesley.” She caught herself up. “At least that’s what she told me, several times, during its creation.”
“You astound me.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure that we will be able to market it as suitable for ladies.”
Unwilling to argue at this point, Letitia let that issue lie. “Do I take it then, that you are considering accepting Lady Corinth’s work, sir?”
“Indeed yes. I will be very happy to offer a publication contract to Lady Corinth. On most generous terms, I might add.”
Since she couldn’t stand up, shout, dance, whoop or do any of the things she would like to have done, she just smiled.
“There is one proviso…” He reached for his bag and withdrew the manuscript.
Her heart dropped to her boots. Here it comes. Nothing is ever that simple.
“I have made a copy and taken the liberty of marking up some areas that need greater clarification. I’ve also had a copy made of the document with the suggestions. It never hurts to have an extra manuscript for safety.”
“Would not an editor be the one to make those suggestions, sir? I believe I’ve heard that that’s how these matters are handled?”
“We do have editors with whom we consult; several are well-respected in their fields. However, given this particular volume and the nature of the content, I felt it better to retain it in our own offices. I’m sure you can appreciate my point of view.”
She watched him. He was not embarrassed, just cautious.
“Therefore I have done what might be called a preliminary read, and made some editing suggestions. If Lady Corinth would be good enough to look them over, and perhaps attend to them, then we would be delighted to offer one of our highest tier contracts.”
He withdrew a document from his case and passed it to Letitia.
Her vision blurred for a few moments as she read the terms. The advance alone would be enough to fix a lot of the rotting floors at Ridlington Chase. And the consequent profits from sales and second and third editions? Her mind scrambled to grasp the significance of the numbers.
After a few minutes, she laid the document beside her on the couch. “You must be confident of success, Mr. Lesley, to offer such generous amounts. You’ve said yourself that this is controversial material. Are you that sure it will sell? Is there a market for works of such a nature?”
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��I can understand your questions, Miss Smith. And since they must emanate from Lady Corinth herself…” He glanced at her with a questioning look.
“Yes, they do.”
“Then you may reassure her that yes, there is indeed a very active interest in such books. I think it fair to describe this as erotic, if you’ll forgive my blunt words. And such volumes have achieved very healthy sales numbers, while not necessarily finding their way into the most popularly visited sections of bookshops or libraries.”
“Ah,” exclaimed Letitia. “I see what you mean.” You’re going to make a fortune selling my book under the counter.
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THE MISTRESS WAGER
Book 4 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Series
The evening was shaping up to be one of unalloyed boredom for one or two of the guests, Mr. Max Seton-Mowbray among them. The star pianist, a Señor Marcovicci Bonatello, was…uninspired. Max decided that was the word that best described his performance.
Technically brilliant, every note perfect, but lacking anything lifting it beyond the ordinary. His sister’s abilities with this particular movement from one of Beethoven’s early sonatas left Señor Bonatello’s far behind. He sighed silently as his mind drifted to Grace.
She possessed a rare gift for music, seeming to be able to anticipate the next measure and play the current one accordingly. She painted images with notes as far as he was concerned; her performances always conjured up visions of one kind or another.
And yet few had ever heard her play.
It was becoming clear Grace needed to liberate herself from her self-imposed confinement, but damned if Max knew the right words or the right circumstances to provide her with the key.
A slight clearing of the throat to his right attracted his thoughts away from family matters and he turned his head slightly to see Miss Kitty Ridlington suppress a wince as she stretched her spine a little in a movement just short of a fidget.
He sympathized. These chairs were bloody uncomfortable for a lengthy piece of music. He doubted that situation would change even if the great Johann Cramer himself were sitting at the piano playing the same piece.
Finally, his patience was rewarded by the final bars of the sonata, and Max found himself rising and applauding along with the other fifty or so people in the room. Most of whom, like him, were probably welcoming the chance to stand and stretch, rather than expressing enthusiasm for the performance.
The murmur of conversation grew as the audience began the tedious process of filing out of the ballroom and into the reception hall where food and beverages would be served. With his customary adroitness, Max easily found himself beside his prey.
“Good evening, Miss Ridlington.” He glanced around. “And Miss Hecate? I believe I saw her earlier…”
Kitty dropped a slight curtsey. “Good evening, Mr. Seton-Mowbray. Yes, my sister is speaking with friends, I believe.” She looked off to her right. “Just over there.”
“Ah yes.” He noted the group was absent one Dancey Miller-James, and heaved a sigh of relief. “In that case, I declare my intention of seizing this opportunity to offer my arm as support and guidance through the starving throng.” He raised his bent arm, holding it out to her, his expression daring her to accept.
“How eloquent, Mr. Seton-Mowbray. And yet a simple may I escort you would have worked just as well.” She shot him a somewhat scornful glance. “I’m hungry too.”
“Good.” He merely grinned as she placed her gloved hand on his sleeve and allowed him to steer them to a couple of empty chairs. “Wait here, don’t let anyone take that seat, and I’ll fetch us a couple of plates.”
“Don’t forget the lobster patties,” she said as he turned to leave. “I adore them. Miss those and I will never speak to you again.”
“A terrible threat.” He chuckled. “Lobster patties it is.”
Adroitly balancing two plates, he returned minutes later, pleased to observe that Miss Ridlington had indeed managed to defend their seats from other guests.
“Your refreshments, Ma’am.” He bowed, gave her a plate and then took his own seat. “You will note the preponderance of lobster patties.”
She was surveying the mountain of little pastries with approval. “You certainly took me at my word, sir.”
He munched appreciatively for a moment. “The thought of being cut from your list of acquaintances struck terror into my soul. By the way,” he munched again. “You’re right about them. They are quite delicious.”
Both ate appreciatively, the silence between them oddly comfortable as they watched the ebb and flow of people in the room.
Then Kitty swallowed, and spoke. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” He turned his head and looked at her.
“Being quite unlike yourself.”
He blinked. “In what way?”
She barely restrained a snort. “Mr. Seton-Mowbray. We have crossed paths now more times than I can recall, at a variety of events, over what has to be close to a year or so. In all that time, in all those encounters, you have never revealed any desire to be charming or attentive. In fact, you have mostly appeared to be uninterested, often intimidating, and seldom conversational.” She considered the contents of her plate and carefully selected another treat. “And yet this evening, here you are, waiting on me, fetching me lobster patties, and generally acting in a most unexpected way.” She popped the confection into her mouth and murmured in delight for a moment. “I should add that I am not complaining.” She licked her lips. “But it is quite out of the ordinary.”
Max had a difficult time pushing aside the results of watching her tongue leave a sheen on those full lips. “Really.”
“Yes. Really.” She set her plate aside with a sigh. “So I shall repeat myself. Why are you doing this?”
“Because it gives me pleasure?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m sure there are many things that give you pleasure. But you had ample chance to explore this particular behavior before now, and you didn’t. So no, I won’t accept that reason.”
He shrugged. “You have found me out, Miss Ridlington.” He too set his plate on the small table behind them. “I have something of import to discuss with you.”
“Better,” she nodded.
He narrowed his eyes. “That is the truth, you know. It is important. And I’m not sure how to begin the conversation.”
“Well, when you decide, do let me know?” She sighed. “I can’t say I’m averse to missing the second part of the evening’s entertainment. Señor Bonatello must be having an off night.”
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About the Author
British born and bred, Sahara Kelly has enjoyed writing and reading Regency romances for many decades, beginning in her childhood with books by Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer and Barbara Cartland.
Arriving in America with her almost-complete collection of Leslie Charteris’ Saint novels and a passion for Monty Python, Sahara’s new life eventually expanded to include a husband, offspring, citizenship, and a certain amount of acclimation to her new surroundings.
She never quite managed to attain a level of comfort with the American way of spelling, however, and creating a Regency novel offers challenges in that regard. So you’ll see words that British readers will recognize, but American readers might perhaps find unusual. It’s a choice… should one write an English romance using English spelling? Sahara has come around to that belief. She can now enjoy the extra “u” which has always seemed so colourful…
After more than two decades of writing, Sahara is now enjoying the greater freedom offered to authors by the rapidly expanding self-publishing scene, and looking forward to many more such experiences.
Being freed of controlling restraints has opened doors—for Sahara and many other writers. There are now no impediments; no obstructions barring the path from writer to reader. Which is, in many ways, exactly as originally intended when that first s
toryteller sat on a rock outside her cave, tugged her bearskin around her shoulders and smiled at her kids across the open fire with the words “Once upon a time...” (or however it sounded several million years ago.)
To find out more about Sahara Kelly and her writing, please drop by her website and visit her at:
Sahara Kelly’s website
This is where Sahara shares none of the intimate details of her life, but will present you with a list of books she'd like you to buy so that she can go do research on a beach in Aruba and be pampered with massages accompanied by drinks with umbrellas in them. She’ll send you a postcard. Thank you.
When not dreaming of lazing on tropical beaches, Sahara has a relatively active social presence on the Internet. Take a look:
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Also By Sahara Kelly
(*- co-written with S.L. Carpenter)
The Landlocked Baron
Book 1 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington series
St. Simon’s Sin
Book 2 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington series
Word of a Lady
Book 3 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington series
The Mistress Wager
Book 4 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington series
Mistletoe Masquerade
A Ridlington Christmas Novella
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The Mistletoe Marquess
Outrageous Ladies
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Honor and Secrets
Book 1 in the Gypsy Gentlemen Series
Control and Compassion
Book 2 in the Gypsy Gentlemen Series
Endings and Beginnings
Book 3 in the Gypsy Gentlemen Series
